


Eye of the Hurricane

by Amethyst_Hunter



Series: 30 Kisses: The Serpent and the Jackal [4]
Category: GetBackers
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst_Hunter/pseuds/Amethyst_Hunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every ship needs a safe harbor when the storm front approaches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> \- Standard disclaimer applies. GB is not mine and so forth.
> 
> \- 4th in the 30 Kisses Serpent & Jackal series. Theme: #6 – “the space between dream and reality.” Rated PG - PG-13 for implied m/m.

~~

 

It’s raining outside, huge buckets of water pouring from the sky as though a giant water main somewhere had erupted. This in itself is discouraging enough, but accompanying it is thunder, repeated crashes and booms and lightning that sizzles with malevolence. Each time it flashes, Ban cringes inside, bracing for the nerve-jarring explosion he knows is coming a second later.

He’s not afraid, but he doesn’t like storms. Never has, never will. They remind him too much of certain things better left unsaid, things that ought to remain buried but will always be dredged up by the catalyst of thunder. Like Yamato dying, or Raitei’s bleak rage, Himiko’s tears, his mother’s fears, his father’s legacy. The counts keep coming, along with the hail of lightning and the roar of thunder. It’s like he’s been cast adrift in his own personal hurricane, but he can’t find that center lull long enough to lose himself in a sleep that will shelter him from the storm’s other half.

Ban curls up tighter, burrowing his head into the pillow to try to muffle the noise though it’s a futile effort anyway. Likewise the noise in his head – for every sharp crack he hears it’s one more unwelcome thought intruding into the jumble of misery that’s strung his muscles tight. He wishes Ginji was here because Ginji would understand, but that idiot, bless him, has the unique ability to sleep through anything, anywhere – including the cacophony of a thunderstorm. And Ban is loath to sneak next door to the other apartment and disturb his partner’s rest for the sake of commiserating. 

He feels a looming presence behind him that has nothing to do with the storm, then the bed dips slightly and another body, slender and willowy but steely in its strength, slips beneath the covers next to him.

Akabane has joined him.

Ban tenses at first, because he’s not sure what to expect from the jackal. Bad weather has varying effects on Akabane; if he’s lucky, they’ll only have sex tonight. But the folding of arms around him, molding his back to a bare chest and the soft sigh of settling breath on his nape, eases his concerns. With a little shifting and rearranging of bodies, of blankets, they can even form their own cocoon to ride out the storm. Ban rolls over and pulls Akabane closer, tucking his head against the slope of a pale shoulder.

He inhales the sweet scent of soap; Jackal’s been in the shower recently, for his hair is still somewhat damp. Humidity has made a few of the end strands curl slightly, mostly wisps around his face and the nape of his neck. This should be a wholly pleasant fragrance, for his lover is meticulous and dainty as a cat in his ablutions...except that Ban can smell, underneath the cleanliness and natural musk, a coppery tang that shouldn’t be there. He knows Akabane was out on a job earlier, and he wonders how many J’s split the night long before the lightning started its carvings. 

As if sensing his thoughts, the jackal creeps closer to Ban. Elegant fingers, long arms curl around Ban’s bare skin, wrapping his back in what almost seems like a reassuring embrace. One slender hand goes between their bodies and draws one of Ban’s hands to a spot curving just above Akabane’s hip. He’s wearing black silk pajama pants, and Ban has to tug the elastic down a bit to reach the area Jackal is guiding him to: a gauze patch about the size of a box of cigarettes, also damp. But not all from the shower. Ban’s fingers come away a bit sticky, and the blood scent is a little stronger than before.

He lifts his head, meeting a pair of mournful-looking purple eyes shaded by soft waves of black hair. No fun tonight, evidently, a prospect supported when the jackal flinches ever so slightly, as a vicious bolt dances across the sky with the echo of thunder swiftly following its wake. Akabane doesn’t seem to care much for storms either, though for differing reasons than Ban’s. They stir the murky waters within and rouse a hunter that must be appeased. 

Violet eyes beseech him in their intensity: _will you fight with me tomorrow? Will you give me what I need?_

Twin sapphires answer back, just as silent, just as steady: _Yes, I will take care of you._

The violet warms to a near-rosy hue as Akabane’s gaze softens with affection, and an odd relief. The sudden glare of lightning illuminates their silhouettes, suspending them somewhere between this world and another as a mutual understanding is shared. And for that brief heartbeat, Ban sees him as he must have once been, what a part of him might still be - not a jackal, not a doctor, just a man, another lost soul seeking his place in this world like everyone else. A place where he belongs...a place he is needed. Wanted.

Somewhere he is cared for.

This, too, is all Ban has ever wanted since learning of his cursed heritage and the prices he pays for that. He discovered it in his too-short time with Yamato and Himiko. He found it when he met Ginji and the Raitei atop a limitless mountain. He meets it each time he walks into a small coffee shop owing its owner an endless tab, and squabbling or communing with its various patrons, depending on his mood and the personalities present. And he feels it, of all places, in the den of a jackal. Sometimes. 

His tension easing now, Ban closes his eyes and squeezes the warm body he’s holding tighter to him; Akabane does likewise as he clings back, and somehow the snarling thunder doesn’t seem as loud or as threatening anymore. There are no biting knives and no stinging serpentine kisses between them. Just two people needing a safe port and finding it together in each other’s arms.

~~

And this is how Ginji sees them the next morning when he comes to wake Ban, and he smiles, having learned long ago the lessons of the storm.

 

~~


End file.
